


sunday morning

by foolswhodream



Category: Hadestown - Mitchell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, but still angst, centered on orpheus but the others are all mentioned, eurydice is alive cause it hurts less, they made it out of hell! but now orpheus is dep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 21:33:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolswhodream/pseuds/foolswhodream
Summary: the lovers' first winter since escaping hadestown, and orpheus is struggling. a lot. so he tries to pray to the gods for help.(aka i have a thing abt cathedrals and wanted to write sad orpheus)





	sunday morning

**Author's Note:**

> lyrics throughout are from Dear God by XTC, aka one of my fave songs ever

_Dear God, hope you got the letter and_

 

For as long as Orpheus could remember, there had been a cathedral near the center of town, built by one of the gods long ago as a proclamation of vanity. The boy had never frequented it, but there were days on which it seemed the only place he could find where he felt less tormented by whatever was in his mind. It was always welcoming, always holding golden hands out to him and remaining still every time he flinched away. He used to insist that he would never visit, finding it to be a sort of betrayal to the goddess of spring he’d come to know so well. Persephone had never expressed any distaste in the idea, but it had never felt right to him.

But there came days when he could no longer find comfort in his home, when he felt too large for his body and not even Eurydice’s embrace could keep the world at bay. They came during his second winter with her, when every fear he’d ignored in the blissful light of summer began to run their hands along his shoulders. It was then, when he could no longer stand to look at himself, that he started running. He ran from his own thoughts, never speaking of one topic for more than a few minutes. He ran from the song that echoed in his head, so focused on knowing that Eurydice was okay, that she wouldn’t leave, that he couldn’t let himself go home. He ran, and ran, and ran, until he found himself kneeling beneath an altar devoted to nothing, snowflakes laced through his hair and cold soaked into his bones.

That was the first time he had visited. 

Now, the boy found himself there on the days of winter where it was too bitterly cold to admire the snow, but not yet so harsh outside that he spent his day murmuring ancient stories to Eurydice as they lay in their bed. When it was empty, he spoke aloud, the words a lilting melody of a song he didn’t want to sing anymore. If there were others, he offered them faint smiles or a hand to hold if they asked, always acting as a reminder that the winter would not last forever. 

On days like today, he sat cross legged in the aisle, trembling slightly, his features knit together in frustration and fear that he was no longer able to ignore. They’d come close, too close, and he could hear their whispers itching underneath his skin. Eurydice had insisted she was fine, that they would be alright, but the voices that would drive him mad kept saying otherwise. It was why he found himself nearly crumbled at the base of the altar, no words escaping his lips and no one around to listen.

 

_I pray you can make it better down here._

 

It didn’t feel like anything had changed. There had been rumours that the leaves had remembered how to turn into the hazy shades of autumn, but only a few fell to the earth. The rest were blown away by harsh winds, leaving skeletal reminders that there was nothing to be done. Once the winter began, it seemed to be eternal. Eurydice said so, at least. The pair had spent hours staring out the window, hands clasped as Orpheus drew small circles on her palm. He always insisted that the cold would go away, that it wouldn’t bite at them so long as they were together. He was sure of it, too, until the weather worsened. The world sank deeper into ice, frost coating every crevice when they woke each morning, and Orpheus felt himself falter. Eurydice was there, always offering a steady hand or a whispered reassurance, and doubt could be kept at bay most days. 

Outside of their home, the town had all but fallen asleep. No one wandered through the square, no music echoed out from the bar, and those you did see kept their heads down and their hoods up. Screams would stay on the wind longer than laughter, swept along by the forces that wished to remind each and every person of the danger they were in. Fires wavered, unable to maintain any strength. The sky darkened as the sun disappeared behind furious clouds, and it seemed that with each passing minute, the conditions of the earth worsened. Bitter wind pulled hands apart as gold tarnished and turned to molten iron, seeping the color from everything.

 

_I don’t mean a big reduction in the price of beer,_

 

What was worst of all was the way people seemed to change in winter, as cold fastened to their bones and led to stiff knuckles and stiff drinks. The bar changed from the place of joyful celebration that it was in summer to a hospital, where at least a dozen people could be found nursing their sorrows away. The darker months seemed to make people fall into the bottom of a drinking glass before they’d even spoken a word in the morning, turning instead to the absolute numbing that drinking could offer. It was like medicine, they said. Nothing could hurt you if you couldn’t feel it, they said. Half the town seemed to appear as a statuesque ghost, while the others followed them with outstretched arms to keep them upright. People were angrier, bar fights broke out over a dropped quarter, and it all seemed to repeat itself each day. 

Orpheus still worked his shifts on days when Hermes didn’t send word to stay home, but he never reached for the bottles on the shelf. He wasn’t sure why not. Sometimes he thought it would make it all easier, that his mind would quiet if he pulled away from reality, but everytime his gaze fell back to Eurydice— and she would smile, just slightly, as she always tried to when their eyes met— and he was reminded of the dangers of being pulled away from her too. They didn’t keep any liquor in their home, for no reason other than that it made Orpheus’ heart race less when he returned. Eurydice understood. It kept the rest of the world outside, where it belonged.

 

_But all the people that you made in your image,_

 

He’d known the people in town his whole life, had seen them go through each winter with the same anger they always harbored, but he’d never understood their desperation. Orpheus somehow managed to get by with just enough, not noticing when food stretched too thin or the flames began to flicker out. 

But he noticed now. He recognized the fear in others eyes when their pockets came up empty, when a roll was devoured too quickly, when the firelight died. There always seemed to be someone who walked into the bar with eyes red from tears, who sat down in front of Orpheus and merely pointed towards whatever they wanted. The boy began to recognize the patrons more than he had before, and knew when to stop serving them drinks. Hermes was always there to push them back when they started to yell, when their hands reached for Orpheus’ suspenders or tried to swat at the arm of the boy when he took a glass back, insisting that they needed every last drop. It grew tiring to see the emptiness behind their eyes, to press their hands away and watch as shame filled their features. 

He’d told Eurydice about it, once, after a particularly long night. She’d asked the moment he walked inside, the usual hope he managed to carry having seemingly vanished. Orpheus remembered it. He remembered the way he’d whispered, as though confessing a sin despite it not being he who committed it. He remembered her pressing a kiss to his temple, the concern that had appeared on her features. He remembered wondering why she was worried about this, about him, when there were more important things to focus on. They had to survive, they had to make it through the winter, they had to do it all _together_. Eurydice had frowned when he mumbled all of this, the words tripping over themselves in his panic, and had instead wrapped her arms around him and promised that they would be okay, a dozen times over.

 

_See them starving on their feet,_

 

Orpheus was never able to shake the feeling that something would go wrong, that he would wake up one morning and realize that he had failed, or worse, that Eurydice would leave again. She kept insisting that she wouldn’t, that she would stay with him through every winter that was to come, but there were days when the fire didn’t provide any heat and he could see her shoulders pull in. He would hold her hands to his chest then, try to give her whatever strength he had left over and remind her of the same things she told him. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing was ever perfect. 

On the too long nights, they argued or turned away from each other, when Orpheus would go to work and ignore the patrons who yelled. On those nights, the winter felt unbearable. It never lasted long, though, the string that tied them together always bringing them back to each other.

On better days, which were blessedly more often, they managed to find peace with each other, often left entangled in the sheets of their bed. Orpheus would play for her, and Eurydice would hum along as her head rested on his shoulder. They would stay home with the blanket wrapped around them, Eurydice encouraging Orpheus to voice every thought that ran through his head, brushing away the insecurities when they arose. He would repeat the schedule she’d made to ensure that he knew it, and she would thank him and remind him not to worry too much. Sometimes, he would turn and see her smiling, looking at him with bright eyes, and he thought there was no way the world could be so bad if he still got to love her.

 

_Cause they don’t get enough to eat_

 

Still, any joy seemed to be stripped away before it could ease the pain that cold caused, before he could fully feel his fingers again as frost nipped at them. Orpheus was more aware of the shrinking stockpile in the pantry, despite Eurydice and the part of him that still believed in something saying they would be okay. Everytime he stepped outside, he couldn’t help but look at the eyes of those he passed and let himself see how the world was. Today was no exception. His feet had dragged in the snow with each step towards the cathedral, a destination he hadn’t chosen for himself. All Orpheus knew was that his heart refused to slow itself down, and the wind whistling underneath their door would drive him to tears if it didn’t end soon.

He’d kissed the top of his lover’s head and apologized once, twice, before he left, his hands crammed in the pockets of his coat and his head ducked to avoid the gaze of those who might recognize him— not that people seemed to look up much during this time of year. Their eyes stayed harbored on an unforgiving earth, as if hoping they could see down to the gods that caused all their pain each year. Orpheus thought of those gods, too. He couldn’t help it. The boy had never been one to seek resentment, but with each brush of cold against his cheeks, he felt his features harden slightly. When he finally reached the cathedral, when he collapsed on the floor in front of the altar, it was not with open hands as one was supposed to.

 

_From God._

 

“Persephone,” he choked out, the word painful as it scraped out of his throat. He’d never done this, never prayed to the gods. He had always believed in them, had known them, had let them into his life. It didn’t seem necessary to pray when he trusted them, trusted her, more than anything. But the winter was cold, and Orpheus was tired. Though what led him now, despite everything he’d fought against, was fear. Fear that he felt clutching at his chest, that kept whispering reminders of the previous year in a cruel tone that he knew he’d heard before. It was fear that brought him to the cathedral, that brought him to his knees to beg for something: some sort of respite he’d never had to chase before. 

Before, it had been music, it had always been the song he could hear deep within him that brought him comfort. It had been something to chase, to look to, to remind him of the good in the world and what he could do to find it. Some days, he still found that joy in his lyre, but now it seemed to only remind him of what he almost lost. His song was no longer his. It belonged to ancient gods who needed it more than he did, who sent it reverberating through the earth when they returned to each other. It no longer brought solace to him, and even the patrons of the bar were beginning to notice the distance creeping on to the poet’s features. Without the song, a boy was left behind with too many thoughts and no way to explain.

It felt like he was taking his first breath when he spoke.

“Persephone,” he said again, the word a plea this time. “What do I do? There’s nothing up here, nothing’s left, and I know we made it out but I don’t know if that’s true. And she’s here, she’s still here and she is still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, but I can’t offer her anything any more. I have no song. I have no gift. I’m hardly a steady hand because I seem to always tremble and I’m trying to be there and be something but I can’t focus. It’s cold. It’s too cold. It keeps biting me and I never realized how winter could be so dead and yet speak so often. Home doesn’t feel like home some days, and the bar just gets worse as time goes on. You should see their faces when they walk in from the cold. Someone’s always crying. They yell more, too. I haven’t yelled. I don’t think I’ve yelled. I haven’t touched a drop and I know that’s your approach but I’m afraid I’d lose what’s left of myself. I want to believe this is temporary, that eventually it’ll come back into tune for me. I’m scared. I’m scared.”

 

_I can’t believe in you._

 

“What are you even doing down there, Persephone? I know the earth has to die, but must it be so bitter? There’s no food. There’s no food for anyone. I don’t know how I never noticed that before, but I see it now. I see it because there is nothing else up here, no beauty. Not even in the fresh snow, or the frost that dances on our window. It’s just cold. And you, Hades, you’re not doing anything to help,” Orpheus continued, anger beginning to seep into his voice. “You know you’re not. I’ve seen brawls over a quarter because then they can leave, go down to you despite knowing what they’ll find. I don’t know how anyone could go to you.”

Orpheus wasn’t sure he’d ever admitted that to himself. The boy loved Eurydice more than he loved the world. Nothing she did would ever change that. He had, and would, go to the end of the earth for her, though he prayed he would never have to go again. He’d listened when she explained, had pressed his lips to her head and tried to ease her pain. Orpheus had listened when she woke in the middle of the night in cold sweats and reached out for him, murmuring about the gear turning in her mind. He listened every time she spoke, and yet… He still didn’t understand how she’d made her choice. 

 

_I won’t believe in heaven or hell._

 

Perhaps it was because of the things Orpheus feared, the reminders of which made him feel all at once like he wasn’t himself. Hermes had once said that the boy feared nothing normal, only the chance of losing what mattered. Perhaps it was because of the things Orpheus loved, which was a list far greater than his fears and one that meant far more to the poor boy. It was because he loved the way life was in summer that he made it through each winter. It was because he loved Persephone that he was patient in waiting for her return. It was because he loved Eurydice that he had followed after her without so much as a second thought. Orpheus loved, and he loved deeply, and it was what kept him rooted so steadfastly in his life.

But man was made with both virtue and vice, and the thoughts that pull a man away from himself are never far behind any dream. For every thing Orpheus loved, he doubted their love for him. Never often, never consciously, but in the darkest hours of the night when reality could be kept at bay, those thoughts crept in. They spoke in shockingly sanguine tones, pressed ghosts of kisses to his forehead and tugged at his arm to distract him from the truth. There was never anything he could do to scare them away, so the boy turned to singing, or playing, or holding his breath until Eurydice woke, pressed a kiss to his hand, and brought the world back to him.

 

_No saints, no sinners, no devil as well,_

 

That was what Hades had stolen from him. The song was a gift, a necessary sacrifice, and the poet had known that when he gave it up. No, what Hades had stolen from Orpheus was his ability to trust, to trust in the blinding, magical way he had before. Doubt had only ever come when he was terrified, when it seemed that all hope was lost. It had never been made known to him that what he should fear most was a voice inside his own head, but now… Now, he could hear it any time he stood still for too long. It whispered in his ear when he put down a plate of food. It shouted when a patron left the bar with silver in their pocket. It echoed when Eurydice seemed far away. For the first time in his life, the part of himself he most desperately wished to abandon no longer obeyed.

And it no longer spoke in his voice.

No, it spoke in a combination of trembling bass and lilting soprano, a quartet that was achingly familiar. It was nearly constant, pressing thoughts of doubt to the forefront of his mind no matter where he was. It could pull the light from his features in seconds, could turn his song from one of love to one of sorrows. In the times of night when it was silent, when even the wind seemed to vanish, it was all Orpheus could hear. It was spoken in the voices of gods, echoing his failures and reminding him of the nothing he would become. It spoke of danger, of distrust, of every reason he should believe he had not succeeded. Some days, he believed it.

 

_No pearly gates, no thorny crown,_

 

For all his fear, Orpheus could find ways to drown out noise. He could spend hours talking, giving voice to anything that came to mind. He could sing, or play, or hum. He could sit and watch as Eurydice explained the way something worked, or went over the schedule again for no reason other than so he could listen to her voice. When he was awake, he could make the world seem busy. It was easier that way. The poet who before had needed silence so desperately in order to center himself in the melody that called out to him now tried his best to keep it at bay. There were things he could no longer say that remained just out of reach when he tried to let them out. Noise chipped away at him, made his heart feel heavy in his chest, but he thought it was worth it.

That was until it started that when Orpheus closed his eyes, all he could see was flickering darkness in front of him and a voice telling him to turn around. Hades would appear, force his shoulder to turn, and grab Eurydice before a sound could escape the poet’s lips. He would walk and walk for ages, only to never reach an end, the symphonic rotation of Hadestown never seeming any further away. There came dreams that pulled Orpheus in so fully that he thought he might be dead when he awoke, his breaths short and ragged as he tried to find his place on earth again. There was no escaping them, only ways to control them if he managed. He’d gone to Hermes on his knees asking for something to make them go away, only to be handed a flower and to be told to go home. Orpheus had explained to Eurydice, and while his lover was quick to hold him, he didn’t know how to explain that the thing he feared most was her disappearing if their eyes met. He saw the pain in her expression when he squeezed his eyes shut, when the memory of the dream had not yet faded away from him. It pained him too.

 

_You’re always letting us humans down._

 

“Let me go. Stop sending whatever horrors you have to me. I can’t go on like this. No one can go on like this. I don’t know what you’ve done to me, what curse you decided I was worthy of. I don’t care if you’re angry that we made it out. You have poisoned me, Hades. I can’t sleep without seeing your forsaken town. I want to live as myself again, not some shell that can only see the past. I don’t want to doubt the world. It hurts, Persephone. It hurts to fall asleep each night.” Orpheus knew he was begging, pleading with the goddess in hopes she could whisper kind words to her husband. “Winter is long, and I do not care how many souls you wish to claim, but I will not fall to you until the earth itself has decided it is my time. Please, let me go.”

 

_If there’s one thing I don’t believe in,_

 

Orpheus knew his trust was waning, that his head continued to spin despite the words he shouted down towards hell. “I gave you the song. I do not owe you my life. We had a deal. We had a deal. You cannot ruin me now just because you’re upset, Hades,” he whispered, repeating the words over and over again as he pulled his knees to his chest. The boy could hear his heart, could feel the blood rushing to his fingers as they trembled gently against his ankles. He could feel each breath as it rattled in his lungs, as he tried to force out words. “I’ve done what you asked. Let me go home to her. Let me go home as me, not as this thing. Let me be with her.” The words were barely audible, cracking every so often as he spoke. “It is what I gave you, too.”

 

_It’s you._

 

He wasn’t sure if he believed that it would work, that begging to gods would ever take him anywhere, but Orpheus felt the moment his message left him and traveled down. He could feel how it echoed throughout the empty cathedral, how the silence it left behind did not try to crawl through his mind. What was left, as the poor boy lay his head down against the stone and stared at a vaulted ceiling, was a room. A gilded room with a poet who, for the first time in months, closed his eyes and saw only sunlight, who let a tear slip down his cheek. And, as if there was an ancient song, quiet, faint, being offered to him, the boy began to hum.

 

_Dear God._

**Author's Note:**

> this was So Much Fun but idk if i'll ever be able to type again bc 4000 words in one day kinda wrecks you


End file.
